


The Laundrette

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:06:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: Sherlock really is a lovable idiot sometimes.





	The Laundrette

John eyed his phone suspiciously. Sherlock was actually _calling_. Usually that meant he was either in immediate danger or was already in an ambulance and someone else was tracking down contacts via his phone. John hurried his patient out the door and ducked back into his office to take the call.

“I need your help,” Sherlock announced in greeting. “I’m at the laundrette and I’ve figured out how to exchange money for the little plastic card, but the washing machine keeps giving me an error message. What do I do?”

 _Oh, bloody hell._ “Sorry, I think I didn’t hear you. Sounded like you said you were doing _laundry_.”

“I am.”

“You know how? I assumed you thought laundry fairies came at night and magically cleaned your clothes.”

John could practically hear the eye roll through the phone. “Very funny, John,” Sherlock grumbled. “I’m here on a case if you must know. The victim’s sister comes to do the wash every Wednesday afternoon. I can’t just loiter, because that would be suspicious, so I took a basket of your clothes--”

“Why mine?”

“I acknowledge there’s a chance I might get something wrong,” Sherlock answered stiffly. “If I’m going to ruin an article of clothing, I’d rather it be one of your hideous jumpers than one of my suits. Besides, most of mine require dry cleaning.”

John got a fantastic mental image of Sherlock’s dry-cleaned pants coming back in their own little pressed plastic bags. It wasn’t that far-fetched. “You know that jumpers don’t actually go in the washing machine the same as… actually, I assume you don’t know.”

“I’ll that that into consideration.”

 _Lord._ John dragged in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. If he wasn’t careful, he’d have a permanent dent there--Lestrade’s was visible from three or four meters away, now. “All right. Tell me what you’ve done so far. _Everything_. And don’t you dare leave any of the damning details out.”

There was a muffled thump on the other end of the line--Sherlock setting down the laundry basket?--and then Sherlock’s voice got noticeably clearer. “I’m not an idiot,” he said. “I did look this up online before I came. In order, then: first I emptied my laundry hamper on my bed. Then I took it upstairs and filled it approximately four-fifths full with the contents of your dirty laundry pile. Only medium to light shades, before you ask. Following that, I took a cab and walked the final block to this City Centre Laundrette location, a quarter-kilometre away from the flat where the victim was killed. I read the sign to verify I was in the right place, then shifted the basket to my left side so I could open the door--”

“Sherlock,” John warned. “If you’re going to be an arse about this I’m hanging up right now.”

“You said tell you everything,” Sherlock pouted. “Fine. I’m the only one here right now, but the victim’s sister is going to come in at any minute and I can’t get this accursed machine to work. Happy?”

“What’s the washer saying?”

Sherlock grumbled something under his breath. “Error 602,” he answered. “Supremely unhelpful.”

“Did you bring washing liquid?”

Silence.

 _Christ._ “Okay, look around the room for me. Any for sale anywhere? Machine on the wall, maybe?”

“Persil?” Sherlock asked. “The picture on the front looks like it’s a packet of powder, though.”

“That works. Please tell me you actually remembered to bring money.”

Sherlock sniffed haughtily. As if he weren’t the one having to ask for step-by-step directions to do _laundry_. “Of course.” There was a clank of a one-pound coin, then a clicking. “Yes, it’s powder,” he continued. “I assume I put it in with the clothes?”

“And people sometimes question whether you’re really a genius.” John grinned at nothing in particular. “Okay, here’s the next ridiculous step: _take the clothes out_. Put them in a different washer. It’s probably just the one card reader that’s broken.”

“I hardly think--”

“Do it, Sherlock.”

Everything got louder and more muffled as Sherlock put John on speaker and set his phone down, but the assorted background noises did include a washing machine door slamming and another one opening.

“Try the card again,” John called. “Make sure it’s facing the right way.”

“John, you can’t possibly believe I’d miss something like--oh.”

“Let me guess--you had it backwards?”

Sherlock took the phone back off speaker. “In my defense, the signage was ambiguous.”

“Right.” _Bloody adorable git._ Sherlock’s complete inability to handle normal, everyday tasks like washing a dish or buying milk would never cease to make John both shake his head and also feel strangely fond of the berk. “You did put the washing powder in, right?”

Another click, followed by a few seconds later. “Yes, of course.”

“Liar.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Well your receptionist should be checking on you right about now--”

There was a knock on John’s door. “Dr. Watson?”

“--so I’ll just sit here and let my brain atrophy while I wait and you can get back to another sprained ankle.”

John laughed. “I’ll call you in about half an hour when the load finishes so I can talk you through using the dryer, all right?”


End file.
